Somewhere on St. Thomas Page 5

  Ah, Sam’s kiss. It was rugged, and thorough, and beardy and delicious and lighthearted at the same time as being earnest and hungrily sexual as his tongue played with mine, imitating the act in such a way that I found my fingers digging into his down parka just so I wouldn’t fall to the ground.

  “Get a room!” I heard Sean’s teasing holler from the doorway and realized we hadn’t made it fifty feet from the brownstone.

  Embarrassment made me break away and run, and Sam caught my hand and we ran together until we’d gone a block or two past the house. I slowed to a walk but still let him hold my hand.

  “I was going to walk to clear my head and think about things,” I said. “But now I’m all confused again.”

  “About what?” His light brown eyes had specks of green and gold in them, like the strangely beautiful toads that came out after the rain on Saint Thomas. What a strange thought to be having, right now in the winter in New York City, with this man from a privileged family. “Your eyes remind me of toads in Saint Thomas. Que c’est beau.”

  He laughed and pulled me close to kiss me again. I didn’t let him, instead running down the last few frozen blocks until we reached the park, rendered stunningly beautiful by last night’s snowfall, and even on Christmas Day, full of people.

  “Toads. You must mean something good by that,” he said as we slowed, taking a meandering pathway under the barren trees.

  “Oui.” I was still doing Juliette a little. “The toads on Saint Thomas come out after it rains. Hundreds of them. Sitting around in the puddles in the road and getting squished by cars. They have the most beautiful eyes.” I stopped, took his square-jawed, handsome face in my hands. “They have flecks of yellow, bronze, green, sometimes even purple in them, and they’re gold. Yours remind me of them. Remind me of home, somehow.”

  I felt my own eyes fill with the homesickness I’d been fighting all day, and when I closed them, fat tears rolled out the sides. I gulped back a sob.

  “Aw, Ruby.” He pulled me into his arms. My name sounded good in his mouth. The thickness of our winter wear had me feeling like I was hugging the Michelin Man. “God, you’re sweet. I’ve never had such a nice compliment on my eyes before. If I were a chick, I’d be in heaven right now.”

  I laughed wetly and smacked him on the heavily padded arm. “So I’m not such good company. I’m homesick and I spoke to someone on the phone at home. It was—confusing.”

  “A guy?” He’d taken one of my arms and pulled me in against him as we started walking again. “Come on. You can tell me.”

  “Yes, okay, a guy. Someone…” I shivered at the memory of Rafe’s voice. “Older than me. Really gets to me somehow. He’s impressed on me, like I was a duckling or something.”

  “He’s older. Probably hot.” Sam’s voice had steel in it now, and I remembered that in spite of his playfulness, one of his life goals was to be a federal judge. “But he’s eight thousand miles away, and I’m here now. And I like you. A lot.” He stopped, and this time he cupped my face in his gloved hands. “I never expected to meet a girl like you. Such a great friend. Makes me laugh. So pretty.” He smacked his lips against my cold-pinkened ones. “Just an amazing body and a great mind, too. And you’re brave and fun. You’ll try anything. I’ve also discovered I’ve become one of those red-hair fetishists.” He took my beret off and stripped the gloves from his fingers, stuffing the whole handful of winter gear into a capacious pocket. “It reminds me of flames,” he said conversationally, sifting handfuls of my long, wavy hair so that it fell over the shoulders of my dark coat. “Or scarlet ribbons full of gold and cinnamon. There’s a color in here like a nice cabernet, too.”

  “Waxing poetic,” I murmured, but I didn’t want to break the spell he was casting as he stroked his fingers through my hair again and again. It felt insanely good and I shut my eyes to feel his hands on my scalp, in my hair. Again and again.

  “I can’t believe I met you in winter,” he muttered against my ear. “Because I want to see you in summer, all this white velvet skin getting a little color on it, and too many freckles for me to find and count, popping out all over you.” He demonstrated with little kisses across my nose. “One, two, three, seventeen hundred…”

  I pulled away. “I didn’t expect this either, Sam. But since we’re being honest, I’m also dating a guy back in Boston. Henry. He’s pretty into me.”

  “Don’t lead him on, then,” Sam said. He put his face down in the warm hollow next to my neck inside the jade-colored scarf and rubbed me with that smooth-rough beard, sending shivers of delightful feeling through my body and straight south to the action zone. “Don’t waste his time. Because you’re going to be mine now.” He kissed me then, in that conversational way he had, as if there was all the time in the world for him to invade my every corner with his big, buff, warm, irrepressible self and persuasive tongue.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said when I came up for air. For a minute those golden-brown Viking eyes blazed like a hawk’s, and then he laughed.

  “You’re a tricky little virgin,” he said, and squeezed my butt with a big warm hand. “I can see I’m going to have to bring my A game if I’m going to chase off these other guys.”

  I looked down and shuffled my snowy boots. “I’m not looking for a relationship. I’m at Northeastern University for the studying.”

  “Uh-huh.” Disbelief permeated his reply.

  We walked on as I tried to explain. “And the virgin thing. So embarrassing, but it’s only because I grew up religious. I guess it still matters, because I want my first time to be—special.” I kicked the snow ahead of my impractical secondhand boots. “I want to be in love. And have it mean something. But I’m not waiting for marriage or anything.”

  “In love. Meaningful. Special. It’s good to have a dream,” he said laconically, and I socked him again, and he made me chase him and then gave me a piggyback ride, and for the rest of the walk back we talked all about school, what we were studying and what our plans were for the next year.

  Somehow I felt like something had been decided, and spoken, but I wasn’t sure what it was.

  The next week flew by. Sean went back to his hospital residency, a miserable-looking ordeal, and Shellie and Sam made it their business to show me all over the city, taking me on the ferry to Ellis Island, to visit the World Trade Center, to ride the carousel in Central Park, and to attend The Nutcracker ballet with the whole family. It was wonderful.

  And in the back of it all, somewhere buried in my mind, was Rafe’s voice. I have to see you. Come to California. Could I be so crazy as to listen to that voice?

  We were taking the train back to Boston the day after the New Year, and on New Year’s Eve the three of us watched the ball drop in person in Times Square, and I screamed with excitement as it became 1989, and at the turn of the year Sam kissed me so hard it split my lip. I didn’t care, caught up in the revelry, excitement, and warmth, not to mention a few too many sips off of his silver flask of single-malt scotch. I was touched when he kissed the sore spot on my mouth until it felt better than any fat lip ever had.

  But the next morning I felt like I was playing a familiar scene as Sam said goodbye. He had to leave for football team workouts and early strategy meetings at Cornell. He pressed his address and phone number into my hand and told me to write. “I’m serious. I want to see you when we can. Spring break, you’re coming back to New York with Shellie, and we’ll go on a real date.”

  I shrugged, trying for flippant. “Shellie tells me you’re a player in more than one way, so don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  He set a little silver box in my hand, his golden eyes as intent as they’d ever been. “Open this and see how serious I am.”

  I was terrified but I opened it, relieved to see a beautiful diamond-encrusted heart on a platinum chain, not a ring of any sort. “I love it. Wow.”

  He took the necklace out of the box, impatiently pushing my heavy hair out of the way and clumsy with
the tiny clasp, but he eventually fastened it around my neck. My head bent before him and neck exposed must have proved tempting because he bit and sucked my neck, giving me a hickey that branded the mark of his mouth on the nape of it. I loved the feeling and arched back and rubbed my butt against him. He filled his hands with my ample breasts in the fuzzy red hand-me-down cashmere sweater Mrs. Williams had passed on.

  “I want you so bad. I can’t believe how much I want you,” Sam said. I realized, as his hands roamed my fully clothed body and he pulled my ass back to rub against his erection, that our bodies were kindling like sticks making a fire and this was the first time we’d ever touched each other indoors.

  Shellie opened the door a few minutes later to find us making out on the couch. Sam’s hands were under my sweater and mine were all over his naked, magnificent torso as I straddled his lap, and our lips were locked. She retreated with a squeal, yelling, “Sam, you’re supposed to be going! Dad’s waiting in the car!”

  Sam took his hands out and squeezed the rounds of my breasts affectionately through the fuzzy sweater, and said, “We have a date. For lots more dates. And more of this kind of thing, too. At spring break.”

  My beard-rasped neck and cheeks burned from his touch. My eyes were glazed. I nodded robotically and said, “Uh-huh. Okay.”

  And he was gone, with one last pat on my ass and tweak of my long red hair.

  I sat back on the couch and lifted the necklace from the collar of the sweater, dangling the sparkling heart from a finger in front of my eyes.

  “Wow,” I said. The platinum shone with the fire of real diamonds. I’d never had such a nice piece of jewelry before.

  I rode the train back to Boston with Shellie, feeling more conflicted than ever the minute I was out of Sam’s presence. What am I doing? All this romance stuff was horribly distracting from my studies, and I still had to deal with Henry, whom I really did like and knew I would miss. Were Sam and I a thing, after such a brief Christmas fling or whatever it was? Enough to break it off with Henry? And what the hell was I going to do about Rafe’s invitation to San Francisco?

  I needed to come clean with Shellie and get her advice.

  I told her about Rafe finally and showed her the necklace from Sam. “And, oh God, I have to deal with Henry,” I moaned.

  “Oh, to have your problems,” Shellie said.

  I immediately felt bad for my selfishness. Shellie was adorable, a petite, stocky female version of Sam, with the same tawny brown-blond locks and bright brown eyes. She’d been dating, but nothing serious so far, and hadn’t been a virgin since she was sixteen and did it with her then-boyfriend in high school.

  “This situation’s not that great, trust me. Very stressful. Rafe wants to see me this summer in San Francisco. Offered to pay my way out to California.”

  Shellie pooh-poohed. “Who is this guy? A surfer, sailor, drifter? A handyman? Sam’s going to be a lawyer, like you, and the two of you get along great and have chemistry. Even Henry’s got more going on as a boyfriend—he’s going to be a psychologist. Kick Rafe to the curb. He’s got nothing to offer.”

  Not a handyman, a Renaissance man.

  There wasn’t anything Rafe couldn’t do if he set his mind and hands to it. Nothing to offer? Nothing but those amazing blue eyes, those hard, capable hands, that incredible promise of the pleasure he was able to give me, a fire he’d woken and could stoke with just a look, a touch, the sound of his voice, and those heartfelt letters I couldn’t bear to tell Shellie about.

  The letters were too intimate, too raw.

  And Henry? He was sweet, and gentle, and his devotion, his quiet support, the way he sang me songs and read me poetry and even the way he worshipped my body—all of that was reassuring. I could handle Henry so much better than either of the others.

  And then there was Sam. Big, bold, confident, playful Sam who made me laugh.

  “You’re right,” I said. “Sam’s amazing. What I can’t believe is that he really seems to like me.” I shook my head. “Talk about not having anything to offer. I’m the charity case here.”

  “I’ve never seen him like this before,” Shellie said, her big brown eyes sincere. “And money’s not a thing to our family. I mean, we have it, but we don’t make a big deal about it. Everyone but Sam. Sam’s a tightwad. Saves every penny for this mythical house he’s going to build after law school. He’s never done anything but sleep with my friends and break their hearts. I’ve certainly never seen any platinum necklaces before.”

  I wished that made me relax, knowing I meant something to Sam. Instead it felt like pressure, and it was scary now that he wasn’t there with his playful bear hugs and piggyback rides to remind me that what I liked most about Sam was how fun he was, how he made me laugh.

  The weeks went on. I dodged dates with Henry by pleading work and studying. I wrote Rafe secret, aching letters in which I told him what I wished for and wanted him to do with and to me in an ideal world where we didn’t have to worry about how we’d make our different lifestyles work.

  And Sam called. He called every week on Friday night, making a point of letting me know he could be doing something else, dating someone else, but instead he was calling me to talk. He’d tell me he wanted to be with me instead, and he’d share funny stories about the frat house he lived in and even stories about Shellie and how she was as a kid and a little sister.

  Sam paid for our phone calls without a whimper.

  “He’s serious about you,” Shellie assured me. “He always grumbles about long-distance phone bills. Never calls home.”

  I felt our attraction as Sam made me laugh, made me want him, and while he pushed me past my own comfort zone, he wasn’t as overwhelming as Rafe.

  Rafe’s letters were totally addicting in a different way.

  The letter he sent as he left for his month-long voyage to California contained a check for five hundred dollars wrapped around a poem. The note with the poem was simple.

  Beautiful Ruby,

  Come to California. I’ll be there by spring break. Come to me. I can’t wait any longer. Here’s money for your ticket. Call me at this number. I’ll be in San Francisco by March 1.

  The poem was titled “First Night.”

  “First Night”

  She comes to me in ivory

  Not white, because she’s Ruby

  Even the skin of her secret places

  Is a tawny shade of pale

  Peppered with nutmeg freckles I want

  To spend a lifetime counting.

  She offers herself

  Abundant and strong, sweet as honey and tangy as mango

  And I use my tongue to worship her.

  Every inch.

  Every cranny.

  Every place that’s never seen the sun or

  Known the touch of a hand.

  Nothing is hidden from me, nothing is off-limits as I make her mine.

  She’s never known what can be felt and discovered, and every place I take her

  I mark it mine

  I take and I own

  With kisses. With my hands. With my mouth.

  With all of my body I worship her.

  I teach her what has always been in her to feel.

  I touch the nub of her pleasure until she explodes in cries of delight

  And I’m surrounded

  By her perfume

  She’s the garden of my discovery.

  Only when she’s boneless and begging

  Will I move into her, sliding into that tight glove

  Made for me alone

  I’ll take that “jade gate” by storm

  I’ll make it so good for her

  She’s ruined for anyone but me

  Because this is only the first night

  And there will be an eternity more.

  “Oh God, oh God.” I covered my mouth with my hand, and the check fluttered to the floor. “Oh no. What do I do?”

  February 25 was the day I got his letter. Spring break sta
rted March 3, and Rafe would land the boat he was crewing to San Francisco in four days. Meanwhile, Shellie was making plans for us to travel together to New York, and Sam had a full slate of activities planned for the week of break.

  Even Henry had been relentless lately, and I still didn’t want to break up with him because it was so hard to hurt his feelings. I didn’t know what was going to happen with either of the long-distance relationships. There were plusses and minuses on every front. None of them was perfect. Well, maybe Sam was a little bit perfect. But I was afraid to trust him, with his reputation and so little to go on as far as a relationship.

  Someone knocked on my door, and Shellie stuck her head around the doorjamb, made a face. Henry pushed his way into my room.

  He shut the door and put his fists on his hips. He wore a leather jacket that looked good with the red and black checked scarf around his neck. His curly black hair was dotted with snow, and he unwound the scarf and shook the snow out of his hair. His gray eyes were alight with a heat that set something off in me. I scrabbled up the poem and the check and stuffed them back into the envelope.

  “Henry! What are you doing here?”

  “This needs to stop,” he said. “I’m sick of getting the brush-off. Are you seeing someone else?”

  I felt betraying color sweep up my neck and suffuse my cheeks. “Not exactly.”

  “I can tell something’s going on.” He grabbed the chair from my desk and straddled it in front of where I was sitting on the bed. “You keep canceling everything. Just tell me if it’s over.” Hectic patches of red brightened his cheeks, and the forcefulness of his voice stirred me.

  It occurred to me in that moment that I liked alpha, take-charge men. Up until now, Henry had been too mellow with me, letting me set the pace between us, and it made me lose interest. I moved closer and took his chilled face in my hands, kissed his cold lips. They quickly warmed and opened under mine, and his arms clamped around me and drew me close. The chair back became the only thing separating us.